Under the Roof of Marlinspike Hall
by twilighteve-writes
Summary: "He supposed he had always known, but amidst the adventures they had, it slipped his mind. Now, though, the fact that Tintin was so very young rammed into him viciously. How old was he, exactly? He couldn't be older than twenty." In which Haddock somehow became Tintin's caretaker before he even realized it.


When the captain walked into the room, he was greeted by a sight he never thought he'd see. Well, he'd seen it before, but never in this setting, and never so blatant.

Tintin was asleep.

That by itself wasn't that much of a deal, Haddock supposed. Perhaps it was how he was sprawled over the three-seat sofa on his side, with blanket covering the lower half of his body. He held a book close to his chest, almost hugging, and his other hand was buried in Snowy's fur, who snoozed at the sofa's feet. Molly the cat had found a spot on Tintin's hip, somehow managing to get comfortable enough to sleep on such a place. There was a cup of cooling tea and a plate of biscuits on the coffee table.

Haddock blinked, once, twice, before he walked ahead and scratched Molly's ear. The cat was roused immediately and glared at him accusingly. With an apologetic smile, Haddock lifted the cat and held her gingerly in one hand as he pulled the blanket with his free hand to cover Tintin properly. The young reporter gave a sigh and curled into a tighter coil, though he seemed more comfortable. Haddock put Molly down again, and the Siamese immediately snuggled into Tintin's stomach, curling and yawning.

Haddock smiled at the sight. It wasn't every day he could see Molly and Snowy side by side without snapping at each other, but if anyone was able to make sure of that, it was Tintin.

He studied the reporter's face; explored the brows, the lashes, the nose, the cheekbones, the lips. It struck him, how young Tintin looked. He supposed he had always known, ever since Tintin rolled into his cabin from outside of his ship (he still found it to be overly reckless), but amidst the adventures they had – the whizzing bullets, the ridiculously difficult contours of the land, the absurd amount of harsh hits to the head meant to knock them unconscious – it slipped his mind, he supposed. Now, though, in a safe environment of Marlinspike Hall, surrounded by domesticated pets, warm drink and treats, and rows of books, the fact that Tintin was young, so very young, rammed into Haddock viciously.

Haddock was disturbed to realize he didn't even know Tintin's age. How old was the boy, exactly? He couldn't be older than twenty. And yet there he was, walking around like a giant shooting target for free practice, all painted and waiting for the bullseye. His drive to dig up mysteries and uncover the truth was commendable, but it put him in constant danger. Even in a supposedly safe environment, he seemed to curl into himself, alone and wary. Did he even have anyone he trusted to keep him safe? Had he been alone for a long time? Was he even eating right?

Haddock lowered himself to the sofa opposite of Tintin's, still etching the youth's face into his memory, studying every part of it. It made him wonder about Tintin's past, his childhood and such. Surely the lad didn't just pop out into the world already the boy wonder he was now?

Tintin probably wouldn't tell, though. He kept the information about his past tightly under wraps.

The old sea captain fell asleep like that, drowned by thoughts of his young companion and practical savior.

* * *

When Tintin was ready to leave Marlinspike Hall later that week, Haddock stared at the suitcases the young reporter had with him and came to a snap decision.

"Why don't you just move in here, lad?"

Tintin stumbled at that, nearly falling if he hadn't grabbed the handrail of the stairs to regain his balance. "Pardon?" he squeaked.

Haddock shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about it and hoping he didn't fail too horribly. "Well, you've spent more time in here than your own apartment, and Mrs. Finch has started to send your mails here. Why bother going back and forth? Not to mention your apartment's not that well-taken care of, anyway." Haddock lifted a finger when Tintin opened his mouth to protest. "No, Tintin, don't argue. I've seen your stash of food. How do you survive off _those_? I've been in the sea for months at a time and I always eat better than you!"

Tintin grimaced. "My apartment's closer to my office, though."

Haddock rolled his eyes. "The office that you barely even go to? You work home practically all the time, lad. The only reason you want to hold onto that flat of yours is because it gives you more time to procrastinate on your articles because you need to mail it in time otherwise."

Tintin's face burned spectacularly. "That's not… um."

Haddock grinned, knowing he had hit the nail at the head. He reached into his pocket and fished a key, dangling it to Tintin. "Go on, lad. Just take it. I know you need to think about it, but you're always welcome in here."

The reported stepped back, looking nervous all of a sudden. "Captain, that's awfully nice of you, but I can't…"

"Bollocks! Of course you can!" Haddock took Tintin's hand and forced the key into his hand, burying it in Tintin's slender fingers. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, Tintin. This mansion is as much yours as it is mine. You will always be welcome here."

Tintin gave him a look that made Haddock want to smother the boy in hugs, but instead he smiled, patted him on the back, and stepped away. He waved goodbye as the reported walked out of the grounds until he was out of sight, then he turned to walk back into the mansion.

"Nestor!" he bellowed. "Do we have another copy of the key to the house? I gave mine to Tintin!"

* * *

A couple of suitcases hit the floor of Marlinspike Hall with satisfying _thuds_ , and Haddock grinned. "Is that all of them?"

Tintin matched his grin. "As a matter of fact, yes, it is."

"Well, what are we waiting for, then?" Haddock picked both suitcases and handed Tintin one of them. "Let's get these into your room."

Tintin chuckled, but took the suitcase and followed the enthusiastic captain to the room given to him. Snowy yipped happily at his heel before walking off on his own, undoubtedly trying to get into the kitchen. Tintin called him warningly and the dog whined, but followed him.

"I read your article last week," Haddock began casually. "Quite interesting, I must say. You never told me there was a gangster living in my old apartment."

Tintin shrugged. "I've only realized about two weeks ago."

"You didn't think to tell me?"

"I considered writing a letter or giving you a call, but I sort of got kidnapped."

Haddock dropped the suitcase he held. "Blistering barnacles! You got kidnapped?"

Tintin shifted uneasily. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time it happened – "

Haddock's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And how many times have this happened?"

"Um." Tintin's eyes darted around. "A lot?"

"Thundering typhoons!" Haddock threw his arms up. "You need to keep yourself safe, lad!"

"I know, I know, I'm trying," Tintin assured. "Sometimes, things just happen. I'll try not to get abducted again; it's not fun for me either."

Haddock huffed. "Did you get hurt?"

Tintin pursed his lips. "Not much." He remembered how a bullet almost hit him in the head. The captain didn't need to know, he was worked out enough as it was.

The captain sighed and shook his head, bending down to pick up the suitcase. "You need someone to keep you safe, lad. A lady friend, maybe."

The reporter snorted. "You're one to talk, Captain. How's Madame Castafiore doing these days?"

Haddock wrinkled his nose and let out an ugly, indignant noise. Tintin laughed.

* * *

He was awoken by a loud sound that he couldn't identify immediately. He was instantly on alert even though his mind was still clouded with sleep.

Glass breaking, his mind finally supplied. That was what the sound was. Glass breaking.

Someone broke into his house.

"Not on my watch," Haddock growled. He's had someone taking over his ship and he swore that it wouldn't happen again. To have someone breaking into his house was just plain insulting.

The captain squinted, casting his gaze about the room, looking for a weapon he could use. A rifle leaned to the wall, and Haddock snatched it. It was perfect for whacking people on the head. Plus, it was unloaded, so he didn't have to worry about shooting Tintin or Nestor by accident.

Haddock tiptoed around the corridor, relying on muscle memory to guide him across the darkened house. Outside, a storm raged on. He cursed it in his head with his less innocent choice of words. The noise from the rain wouldn't help him locate whatever had broken in through sound.

Loud thuds, more glass breaking, and a scream sent him rushing to Tintin's room, where the noises originated. He tightened his grip on the rifle and burst into the room.

He caught sight of two silhouettes on the ground, rolling and grunting as they fought one another, Snowy a clearer figure to the far left, growling and barking. After a moment, the dog shot forward and bit the top figure in the arm.

That was all Haddock needed. He swung the rifle and hit the figure on the head, and crumbled away immediately.

The room lit up all of a sudden, and Haddock, still too wired, whirled and pointed the muzzle of the rifle to the door, remembering a second too late that it was empty. He came face to face with Nestor, who had his hands up. Haddock sighed and pulled the rifle away. "Call the police, Nestor," he told the butler tiredly as he put the rifle on the floor and kicked it away.

"Right away, Sir," Nestor nodded and immediately turned and exited the room.

Haddock bent and dragged the trespasser away from Tintin, far enough so the boy would be safe, but close enough to immediately act if the man suddenly regained consciousness. "Snowy, guard this unevolved pithecanthropus for me, will you?"

Snowy glared at him for a moment before reluctantly leaving Tintin's side. Once the dog sat in front of the trespasser with a murderous look in its eyes, Haddock nodded in satisfaction. He could leave that one to Snowy.

He knelt next to Tintin, who curled on his side and hadn't moved since the captain dragged the trespasser from his previous position. "Tintin," he called the reporter, pulled him and propping the boy on his arm. "Tintin, lad."

Tintin groaned. "My throat hurts," he said hoarsely, and Haddock noticed for the first time that there were marks on the boy's neck – forming bruises.

"Did he choke you?" The rumbling storm in Haddock's voice was unmistakable, easily beating the storm outside the house and rivaling the ferocity of a naval hurricane.

"Yes, he – " Tintin coughed. "He said something about revenge. This probably has something to do about that gangster article I wrote. His accent seemed to be American."

Haddock hummed unhappily. "It's a good thing you've moved in, then. We'll ask Nestor to give you warm drinks when we've dealt with this, it might help."

Tintin gave a breathy, weak laugh as his fingers ghosted over his neck. "Yes, that would be nice."

They stayed that way for a while, with Tintin pressed to Haddock's chest and the captain holding him protectively, until the authorities came in, dripping rainwater on the carpet. Not once did the trespasser stir.

* * *

It was late autumn when haddock found Tintin lounging in his favorite sofa in the library, an open book unread in his hand as he patted Snowy, who lay by the sofa's feet blissfully. Molly was curled on the reporter's stomach, looking content with the warmth the boy generated despite not getting pets.

Haddock couldn't help the smile that overtook him when he saw Tintin all bundled up. Not that he was any better. It was just their luck that the heater in the mansion was being… difficult, and considering the season, it was more than a little cold. Of course, it still hadn't snowed yet, but frost had started to kiss the grass and leaves, hugging the glass windows and leaving a layer of fogginess that Tintin sometimes drew on whenever he felt particularly childish.

"Hello, Captain," Tintin greeted with he caught sight of the captain. "A bit cold, isn't it?"

"Not as cold as the sea," Haddock grinned.

Tintin gave a crisp laugh. "I suppose that expedition on _Aurora_ was a lot colder."

"Cold on a ship and cold in a house is different, though," Haddock handed Tintin a cup of hot cocoa, which the reporter took gratefully after putting down his book. "I've called someone, but he told me that he can't come here because this is his _day off_ , even after I offered him extra money. Does he want to wait until someone freezes to death before he moves?" He scoffed. "Useless pickled herring."

"I'm sure he has his reasons, Captain," Tintin shrugged, wrapping his fingers around the cup to warm his hands. "Besides, it could be worse."

Haddock hummed unhappily. "Let's go to town," he said suddenly, "make use of the heaters the shops have. Might as well do some Christmas shopping."

"Well, I suppose we could," Tintin agreed, taking a long sip of his drink. "When do we go?"

"In a few minutes. We'll all be happier when we're warm." Haddock turned away. "I'll get us our coats, so finish your cocoa in a bit, alright, lad?"

Tintin hummed, drinking his cocoa. He stared out of the window with a faraway look in his eyes. He started with Haddock shoved his coat into his line of sight.

"Are you alright, lad?" Haddock asked, holding the coat still.

"Just fine, Captain," Tintin smiled and took the coat. He put his cup aside and wore the coat silently.

The captain decided to let it slide. "Who will you buy gifts for, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked instead.

Tintin hummed again, in thought this time. "Well, there's you, of course." He shrugged. "Maybe some treats for Snowy and Molly. Something for Nestor… Thomson and Thompson… I'll probably send something for Chang and his family, even if Christmas doesn't have that much significance in China. And Mrs. Finch, too. And a card for Madame Castafiore wouldn't hurt, considering she sent us one last year."

Haddock snorted at the mention of Castafiore's name. Then he blinked when he realized the absence of family in Tintin's list. "Don't you want to send your parents something?"

Tintin stilled before he turned to face Haddock with a sad sort of smile on his face. "I'm an orphan, Captain."

Haddock stared uncomprehendingly before realization crashed. His eyes widened, and he felt weak all of a sudden. "Oh… _oh_. Blistering blue barnacles, Tintin, I'm sorry. I didn't know…"

"It's alright, Captain," Tintin assured, "it's been a long time. Besides, I have Snowy. And I've got you now."

More confusion clouded Haddock's thought at the words Tintin spoke until the young boy's earnest gaze met his.

With a jolt, belated realization dawned on the sea captain. Somehow, the role of a guardian had fallen onto his shoulders, and he'd be damned if he failed his young, reckless reporter friend that had somehow become more of a son.

* * *

A/N: so I wrote this in order to get myself in the mood for writing a multichapter Tintin fic. It's been a while since I wrote anything for the fandom, and I haven't touched the comics or movie in a really long time either, so I hope no one is OOC. If someone is, I apologize.

I gotta say that I didn't realize I'd write a fic this long, though. I thought it would be shorter. And I certainly didn't think something I started writing randomly on my History of Journalism notes would end up being a complete fic.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this. Please tell me what you think. Have a great day!


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